


fouetté

by nikiforovs (nataleaf)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Dance, Ballet, Ballet Dancer Katsuki Yuuri, Injury, M/M, i guess, side seungjj, they're all friends okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 19:03:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10725315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nataleaf/pseuds/nikiforovs
Summary: fouetté: (1) a movement of the leg, as in ballet (2) whipped.absolutely, positively whipped





	fouetté

**Author's Note:**

> this is a sample of something i've been working on! it's extremely short but i need all the feedback i can get. constructive criticism would be extremely welcome!

Yuuri supposed he loved ballet as much as anyone else who had been doing it for practically their entire life, but he couldn’t count the times he had lain in bed cursing his body for lacking the expression needed for contemporary dance. He could do god-knows-how-many fouettés with Phichit after long rehearsals for Instagram posts, his jumps were lauded for their height, and his lines had been praised to the ends of the earth, but he just couldn’t connect with an audience, as he’d been told in what felt like hundreds of not-so-gentle rejections from the more creative companies in New York City.  
  
It was frustrating, and it made him want to curse ballet for ruining his ability to express his emotions through movement. Deep down he knew that ballet wasn’t the culprit, but blaming ballet was easier than facing the true problem. Yuuri didn’t want to quit the company, but he also didn’t want to feel stranded homesick in a concrete jungle doing something he only sometimes loved.

Yuuri tried to lose himself in the empty studio space, trying to let emotion flow out of his body and anguishing over the fact that however deeply he threw himself in to a piece of choreography, it was never enough. At this rate, he’d drown before he got cast in a contemporary piece.

Frustrated, Yuuri threw himself in to a desperate firebird leap (if he had nothing else left in New York, at least he had his flexibility), but caught the slick-canvased toe of his fresh pair of ballet slippers on the way down, sending him tumbling to the ground with a graceless thud. Yuuri rolled on to his back, hugging his knees to his chest and gently prodding at what were sure to be fresh bruises in the morning.

The door to the studio swung open minutes later, and Yuuri angled his head to see his roommate standing in the doorway, face flushed from either a recent rehearsal or from getting caught staring at fellow corps member Jean Jacques Leroy by Phichit and relentlessly teased. It was impossible to tell with Seung-Gil; his face remained, as ever, a careful blank slate.

“Phichit and I are done. Are you coming back with us?” Seung-Gil stayed stoically in the doorway, not deigning to comment on Yuuri’s sprawled position on the floor. Yuuri nodded and rolled to his knees, wincing as he put weight on them to climb to his feet. Seung-Gil stepped out of the doorway as Yuuri tossed his slippers in to his ballet bag, pulled on his street shoes and a light jacket, and slung his bag over his shoulder to head out of the studio.


End file.
